


people were never meant to be alone

by SapphyreLily



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Gen, M/M, Moving On, POV First Person, POV Second Person, POV Third Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-03
Updated: 2017-05-03
Packaged: 2018-10-27 20:50:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10816497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SapphyreLily/pseuds/SapphyreLily
Summary: Trying to walk away has never been easy.But sometimes, it's necessary.





	people were never meant to be alone

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired in part by [a love song/non-love song by Jon Cozart and Dodie Clark](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fcYJA8qvW7k)

**_i. Semi_ **

It’s beautiful tonight.

It seems odd, that I can still think this, even after all that’s happened, even after being left behind, like this.

But maybe that’s not quite true.

We've made our choices, and though circumstance has had a part in it too, the end result is the same.

I am here, and he isn’t.

The lights dancing across the water are captivating, breaking apart and coming back together, jolted sideways by the waves. Above the harbour, the streetlamps and lights of the buildings shine, bright and welcoming, even though it is close to nine.

I laugh a little, and the sound that escapes surprises even me – it sounds so bitter. But maybe that’s true. I do feel kind of bitter.

It’s lucky that everyone else is too caught up in each other to notice me.

It’s an odd habit, but I pat the railing before I step away, casting a last look at the small bit of sea invading the harbour, at the ships bobbing on it.

Tomorrow, one of those will set sail, a cruise bound for Thailand before looping around and returning here.

Here. That’s a funny thought.

Here, where I am, where we were supposed to be, together.

I’m rambling again.

But hey, at least I’m not like every other sappy couple here.

I am alone, a tourist, even though I am visiting all these sites populated with couples.

\-----

My room is a small one – large enough for just me, maybe a squeeze if I were to share it.

The bottle of wine on the table seems to mock me – as does the single glass beside it. I do not look at them, but open the balcony door, leaning on the railing to regard the pool below.

I should put it out of mind and enjoy my stay here – my mini vacation, in one of the most expensive cities in the world.

Definitely not the most romantic, said to be the busiest and the least happy.

It doesn’t seem all that different from Japan, to me, except that the malls are more crowded, the weather decidedly more humid, and the people are louder.

It is probably a cultural thing, but it’s…peaceful.

It’s nice, I suppose, to be able to hide in a crowd like this, where the bustle drowns out your thoughts.

Where I don’t have to think about what others think of us, where I don’t have to pretend that it’s something it’s not.

_“You are together? Congratulations.”_

Ha.

Maybe once, Wakatoshi. But no longer.

I don’t quite know how to describe us, anymore. It’s a sort of limbo, and neither wants to make the first move to unbalance the equation.

So we keep pretending, I guess. We haven’t slept in the same bed in months, nor have we spoken of anything past usual pleasantries and maybe a joke or two.

It’s like we regressed back to being friends, or perhaps, distant acquaintances.

No, that’s not it. Still friends, but nothing close to what we shared before.

It’s sad.

I sigh and retreat back into the room, turning out the lights, the lightest _click_ the only sound in the following darkness.

The covers are thick, still cool from the air-conditioning, and his voice follows me, a complaint replayed at the slightest touch of coolness.

I tuck myself in and shut his voice out, willing my brain to stop talking.

(I wonder, is this what it’s like, to grow apart?)

 

**_ii. Shirabu_ **

“Okay, and again!”

You smile for the camera, tilting your head in the angle he likes best, letting the artificial wind push the hair back across your face. The camera clicks in quick succession, the director calls a halt, and you step out of the blinding lights.

Another day, another job done.

You hate the long hours and the lights, the fussing and twittering, but modelling is a job that pays well, despite all that it takes from you.

You feel your mind begin to drift, skipping down the forbidden path, and you force it back, slapping it back on track.

You thank the director, the photographer, the make-up artists… Everyone that you must greet gets their share of thanks before you can excuse yourself to the luxurious room they prepared for you.

Luxurious, but empty.

Your mind wanders again, to the thought of companionship in a sun-drenched place, of warm hearts and elbows rubbing, and easy conversations.

You have but one of those, when you took up this job, and left behind a chance at perhaps, something more.

You are alone, in the taxi, and you decide that maybe, it would be alright to entertain these thoughts. This notion, that you could have had a full bloom, when you already have a half-open bud.

Your phone buzzes, interrupting your foolish thinking, and you pull it out.

It’s funny, that the name on the screen matches the face you were just thinking about.

Typing back a quick reply, you hit _Send_ before you realise what a plain, generic answer that was. The same kind of answer you are used to giving, the one that never merits a bigger response than that.

Something small, that you noticed only recently, that is probably why you are growing apart.

Huh. You were growing apart. From the one person who never stopped pursuing you in the past – yet it seems otherwise, now.

(When did he stop? When did he stop running, slowing past walking, coming to a crawl?)

(Will he decide to turn back?)

(Is it worth trying to salvage it?)

Your phone buzzes again, and you see bright photos, lovely scenery, coupled with a smile you know all too well.

 **Wish you were here!** The caption reads, but you shake your head and smother a laugh.

He doesn’t, not really. He admitted so when he was drunk once, though he was quick to re-affirm that he adores you.

(Maybe not so soon, but someday, someday, _surely._ )

(Surely, he will leave.)

Sometimes you wish you could have returned that affection in the way that he wanted, but yours is a friendship turned relationship of convenience. There is no love lost between you, especially after so many years.

(Sometimes, you wish there was.)

But looking at the photo, you let yourself dream a little.

What would it have been like, if you had followed him?

 

**_iii. Semi_ **

The streets are always so busy, no matter where I turn. Maybe it’s because I don’t know any non-tourist areas, but where would be the fun in pretending I was anything but a tourist?

My phone’s camera is awful, but good enough, and I manage to get shots of buildings with not too much sky in them – Satori never lets me live it down if there’s too much sky in a photo.

_“Are you taking picture of the thing or of the sky?”_

I turn my face down, hoping everyone else is minding their own business. It wouldn’t do for a tourist to be upset on a holiday, now, would it?

Except that I still am upset. By something found and lost, but mostly by the _what-if_ of it all.

It would be easier, perhaps, to pretend. As I always do – as we always do, _did_.

And it’s not so hard, to pretend, when I can practically hear his voice yammering inside my head.

It’s only hard because I know it’ll never happen again.

And I can’t help it, I can’t help the thought that forms automatically, despite knowing that it would benefit me to _not_ think about it.

_I miss you._

 

**_iv. Shirabu_ **

It’s quiet, but still a little busy – this is, after all, a city that hardly sleeps. The lights weaving together on the arches of the bridge are bright, but not blinding, the glow enough to set a mood.

You try not to glance around – left and right are couples strolling hand in hand, though there is the occasional single or a small family. It matters not who they are, but what they have – relationships, bonds, people they care about and to whom they can return after a long day.

You cannot say that you have the same luxury now.

You left your base, your home ground – the metaphorical nest. You stepped out and spread your wings, hoping the downdraft would lift and help you glide to the ground.

You have glided this far, and the winds are failing, the current dying away. You have not looked down – have never looked down, have been too trusting, too confident – and now, you are uncertain where you’d land.

Your phone is silent in your pocket, despite usually being the opposite – and that is answer enough.

You’ve landed somewhere unfamiliar, somewhere hostile, and you do not have a single person at your back to fall back on, to trust in.

(A barren land, desert and unforgiving sand, with neither water nor sustenance. A place where one will perish, for sure.)

Maybe…

Maybe you should’ve held on.

(The memory of an empty inbox, unsent drafts, cutting words tears at your heart.)

(A figure turned away, without a since glance back.)

_(Dismissal.)_

You look ahead and exhale through your mouth, trying not to crumple.

(Pretty pictures fold themselves away inside your mind, hiding in a box, sliding into a dark and dusty corner.)

 

**_v. Semi_ **

I’m back.

Back here, at the waterfront, with the lights shining over the water, but this time, no boat in the harbour.

I can hear the soft murmuring of the couples at my back, and for the umpteenth time, I wonder, _why am I doing this to myself?_

(I’m not sure I’ll ever find an answer.)

But watching them, even the slightest glance, brings back floods of memories, remnants of times past, and it’s like they are happening anew.

 _A hearty laugh, a shock of red hair, hands pushing at mine, until his hands are on the controls instead. “Eita-kun, you suck_ so much _at this. Let me get it.”_

_Within a minute, a large plush is in my arms, blocking my vision._

_But I can hear his laugh from over it, and the unbridled joy in it makes me smile._

I can see an arcade from where I stand, and have to turn away, bite my lip, keep the emotion back.

_“Aisle seat?”_

_“Nooo. Oh my goodness, you_ never _watch movies from the side! There, we’re taking H-10 and 11. Right in the centre.”_

_“Satori–”_

_“Shh. It’ll be better, trust me.”_

The movie theatre is on the opposite side of the mall. I start towards it, trying to keep my face blank, but I’m failing, falling.

_“You’ve got a choice. Pick one.”_

_I look at both shirts, but neither of them impress me. He shoves one at me anyway, pushing me into the changing room, and I have to catch myself on the wall, but I’m laughing._

They were good times. That is for sure.

_Hands swinging by each other, until finally one gives up and grabs a hold of the other, pinkies loosely intertwined._

_“Eita?”_

_“Hm?”_

_“I love you.”_

I have to cover my face for a moment, the memory is so strong.

_A chaste kiss, lips lifted in a smile._

_“Forever?”_

_“Always.”_

But forever is shattered, like powdered glass, and there’s not enough of it left to fit in a stained-glass window.

Forever spins away on a breeze, and I watch it go, left behind with a half-hearted lie.

 

**_vi. Shirabu_ **

Your fingers hover over the blackened screen, the train’s lights reflecting off of it.

You are hesitating.

You are reluctant.

 _It’s for good reason_ , you tell yourself, fingers clenching around the device, turning it over so you can’t see the screen.

But in the next moment, you have flipped it over again, unlocked it, and you stare at a background that only heightens your conflict.

A picture of the two of you, smiling broadly for the camera.

You still remember how it was taken, a giant cliché.

_You are laughing, hard enough that he has to support you, because you are bent over, wheezing._

_“Shirabu-san.”_

_There’s a lilt of happiness in his voice, a tad more than usual, and you look up, only for the camera shutter to go off._

_You don’t bother to make him delete it, because your good mood remains – and also because you like the way he tries to preserve memories like this, sometimes._

_His arm around your waist is warm, as is the sun reflecting off your smiles in the photo._

You bite your lip as you stare at the screen, chest aching horribly.

You open your messaging app, stare at the latest message, and once again, exit without sending anything new.

Your home screen wallpaper mocks you, and you have a sudden urge to change it.

 _Don’t,_ a voice inside you whispers, but you shake it off and open your photo gallery.

It is so difficult to pick something, anything, but you settle on a patch of blooming flowers, lit by the setting sun, even though you are breaking apart.

You know better.

This is the way to redemption, and to salvaging what’s left of your…friendship.

You are better, smarter than this. You should know, you _should_ know that the only way to get over this is to leave it alone.

You do know.

And that is why you slip your phone into your bag, watching the flashing lights for the upcoming train station instead of trying to reply, because you only make things worse when you speak.

 

**_vii. Meeting_ **

Two figures headed in the same direction, paths bifurcating at the casino. They almost don’t notice each other, both caught up in their own world, in their haze of distraction.

Neither of them really knows who notices the other first – but they agree that it started with the fireworks.

The fireworks, that go off in the amusement park at eight thirty, a light show that most people stop to stare at.

It is in the aftermath – or perhaps, even the middle of it, the glow lighting the faces beneath – that they stop, and their eyes meet.

They promptly look away, neither of them acknowledging the other, still half in a daze, still hoping, dreaming, on their own.

But the fireworks die away, and the world begins moving again, except for the two stationary figures, both waiting for the other to make the first move.

One of them does move – a shake of his head, a wry smile – turning away. Everything he does screams his belief that he is seeing things, and he will not entertain it.

And the other – it is his turn, his move, and he takes the first step.

The first lifting and dropping of a foot, and then another, and another, before his shoes are clicking rapidly across the concrete, catching up, and a hand placed on a shoulder.

A whisper of a name – in disbelief, questioning, and the one who turned away first – he blinks slowly, as if waking from a dream.

A curious, wondrous smile lifts his lips, and he greets the other in a sighing cadence.

_Hello._

 

**_viii. Catching up_ **

They go back to his room, because it is smaller, quieter, more private.

Small pleasantries, an exchange of information – what they are doing on a small island, so far from their homeland, their jobs, their lives, what they have done since graduation and losing touch.

Neither of them speak about the golden band resting on the table, or the silver one hanging around a neck. It’s as if they recognise the pain in each other’s eyes, and there is a mutual understanding, though they have never agreed on much, before.

The hour is late when their mouths are dry, and one of them stands to leave. The other is just as quick to catch his sleeve, gently asking him to stay.

_It’s late. I’ll lend you some clothes._

It is odd, but he has no reason to refuse, not when he doesn’t have to work the next day. And maybe…

Maybe he does need some form of companionship, if only in the form of someone he used to dislike so much.

Maybe, it would be alright to stay.

(Just for a bit.)

 

**_ix. Quiet moments_ **

The bed is large enough for the two of them, and they lie on opposing sides, facing away from each other.

But sleep does not come easily, and in the midst of tossing and turning, they begin to bicker.

It’s almost nostalgic, the jibes and insults thrown, but neither let up, and they end up poking and kicking each other under the blanket as if they were still in high school.

Nobody knows who won, but lying there in the relative quiet, with the air-conditioning as white noise, it’s almost easy to pretend that they are both okay.

But silence is a tricky thing, like the molten glass that glassblowers mould.

_Who are you engaged to?_

_Is that a promise ring?_

They laugh at their overlapping words. They’ve always been too similar, in some ways.

 

**_x. Secrets_ **

They argue over who would start first, until one caves.

_It was Satori._

_Was?_

_I don’t know, but I don’t think we are together any more. Not in that sense, at least._

A low hum, understanding, accepting.

Non-judgemental.

_You’re right, you know._

_What?_

_This. It’s sort of like a promise ring._ He lets the ring fall from jointless fingers; it _clinks_ against the chain, falling silent against the bed. _But promises are always broken._

A beat of silence – he takes that as agreement, but then the other begins speaking again.

_Not true. Promises are what you make them._

He snorts. _Maybe so, but not this one. This was always in a limbo and ready to be broken._

_Oh?_

_Yeah._

A lengthier silence, and he stares at the ceiling, waiting, waiting, for him to ask.

He doesn’t.

 _You’re not curious?_ He can’t help himself – he can’t imagine anyone not wanting to pry. _About who the other ring belongs to?_

 _You’d tell me, if you wanted._ His voice is so trusting – it’s not fair.

(It’s plain to see who has matured more over the years.)

(He doesn’t like it.)

_Tsutomu has the other ring._

It feels like an admission, a soft, whispered thing, yet also a loud, shouted thing – a gunshot in the darkness, a secret that he doesn’t want to bring to light.

_And?_

He huffs. _I thought you weren’t going to pry._

_I know you, and you want to tell me. You just need a push._

He gets a kick for his troubles, but hears a sigh, and eventually, the other starts talking.

 

**_xi. Moving on_ **

The funny thing about people, is how they pretend they can survive alone, when really, they need support at least some of the time.

That is how humans work, as does the beautiful-ridiculous thing called companionship.

They talk through the night, till the sun peeks through the bottom of the curtains, and that is when they decide to sleep.

When they wake, another day is gone, but the burden on their hearts has eased.

It feels like they are going to go back to pretending they hate each other, go back to pretending the other doesn’t exist.

But one of them makes a tiny offer, and the other accepts, and then they are wandering the mall until closing time, trading banter as they walk back along the bridge.

It’s almost friendly, and they trade numbers, a teasing parting of ways.

_Call me._

_You sound desperate._

_I mean when you need to talk, brat._

_Hmm, no._

_You are ridiculous._

_You are absurd._

_Pain-in-the-ass._

_Naggy._

_I’m trying to be nice._

_Don’t._

_Fine._

_Fine._

They turn away, but glance back, and burst out laughing.

They are broken, and patched up, their repairs messy but feasible for the moment.

They are flightless birds, but they have learnt to walk, and maybe, run.

They smile at each other a last time and part ways, hearts lighter than they were before.

_Romance is a lie, but you can find companionship in the oddest places._

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I casually set this in Singapore bc I don't know anywhere else well enough. Kudos if you can guess exactly which part of the country the different sections are set in!


End file.
